


The Legacy of Heroes

by hearts_blood



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: Comfort Sex, Death, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Parents & Children, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 08:10:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/pseuds/hearts_blood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Shai Alyt was the only father he had ever known. In the wake of Branmer's death, Neroon must learn how best to honor his legacy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Legacy of Heroes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rivendellrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivendellrose/gifts).



> For rivendellrose's birthday. ♥ Starts during "Legacies" and continues on from there. First-season perspective. Can be considered a follow-up to [In the Light of Two Moons](http://archiveofourown.org/works/531570/chapters/942885). Dialogue and scenes from "Legacies" are the property of the magnificent D.C. Fontana.

_The legacy of heroes is the memory of a great name and the inheritance of a great example. ~Benjamin Disraeli_

Branmer was dead. For Neroon, his aide, his executive officer, and his foster son, the truth of that was still too hard to bear. He still expected to see Branmer appear, in some spot where he had not been a moment before, and berate Neroon for his arrogance and his hubris and his rash lack of judgment. But no such thing happened, of course. Branmer was dead.

Neroon sat alone in the captain's suite on the _In'gata_ , where his crew was under explicit instructions to leave him alone, and brooded on his general's last days. They had been quiet, uneventful... inglorious. It was inappropriate to the memory of the _Shai Alyt_. The ceremonial viewing of his body would restore what Branmer had lost by passing beyond the veil merely in his sleep, and for his remains to be viewed by the very people he had nearly conquered would be a great tribute to his memory. 

At no point during his contemplations did Alyt Neroon recall that it was not a Minbari Warrior's way to seek glorious death in battle, but to win in battle and come home to his family, there to live and to die in the presence of those whom he loved and who he had fought to protect. Neroon was Branmer's family, the son of his long-dead favorite cousin and his own acknowledged heir. And the _In'gata_ was Branmer's home, the ship where his parents had courted and conceived him, and where his Religious mother had given birth to him when the warcruiser was unexpectedly called to action in a star system too far from Minbar to name.

The arrangements for the display of the _Shai Alyt's_ body on the station were adequate; the Human crew surly and argumentative but quick enough to do as Neroon demanded, thanks to Satai Delenn. Neroon felt grateful to her for smoothing the way for him... and he was not happy to feel grateful or beholden to Delenn. 

He had lingered at the viewing area she and Commander Sinclair had prepared for Branmer's body until he was satisfied that all was appropriate there, and probably a little longer. The priests and temple guardians she had set to watch over Branmer's body had ignored him completely and gone about their business, giving him at least a semblance of privacy. There was no shame in tears of mourning, even for a Warrior, but he had not wanted to share the depth of his love for the _Shai Alyt_ with any stranger, no matter how respectful. He had wanted a little more time alone with the man who had been his hero, his mentor, and the closest thing he had ever known to a father. He had lifted the lid of the crystal casket and gazed at the face of Branmer, Star Rider and _Shai Alyt_. The strong, noble features had been drawn with pain in his last days, though his physicians had been unable to find anything wrong with his health. An affliction of the soul, Branmer had called it, and Neroon had scoffed, wondering if Branmer would ever leave off the trappings of the Religious life he had left behind so long ago. 

No matter, now. His glass-green eyes were closed, and his face was peaceful. Neroon could only hope that his soul had found peace for whatever ailed it as well. 

The door chimed softly, breaking into his thoughts. He growled and tried to ignore it, but the mere fact that someone had disobeyed him was enough to infuriate him beyond calm. He vaulted from his chair and stormed to the door, waving it open.

"I gave express orders that I did not want—" Neroon broke off, his black expression immediately going blank as he recognized the person who had intruded on his mourning. " _Satai_ Delenn."

"I am not here as _Satai_ , Neroon."

He eyed her warily, but nodded. "Forgive my outburst. I took you for one of the crew."

"There is nothing to forgive. If you wish to be alone, I will be brief. I only wanted to offer my personal condolences on your loss."

"You already said as much this afternoon, on the station."

"I know. But there I spoke as the Minbari ambassador to the station, to you as Branmer's second-in-command. Here, I wish to speak, if I may, as an old friend, to you and Branmer both. And as one who knew that to you, Branmer was more than your captain and war-leader. I am sorry, Neroon. I know what it is to lose a teacher who is both a mentor and a very dear friend. And I know, too, what it is to lose a father."

Neroon snorted softly. "He was a terrible father," he said softly. "He was much better as a teacher, and as war-leader."

"Yes, well… We cannot always be good at the things that matter to us most. For instance… I have, in the past, been a terrible friend. Including to you."

He shook his head and turned away from her, but didn't close the door. Delenn took this to be as much invitation as she was likely to receive, and followed him in. As soon as the door hissed behind her, Neroon turned and regarded her. His face was impassive but for a tightness that he couldn't control, but his black eyes burned. "After all this time, Delenn. Is that all you will say to me? That you were a poor _friend_?"

"I said ‘terrible,'" Delenn corrected him calmly. "And I was unsure I had any right to claim more than friendship, now."

"You made that choice, not I," Neroon growled in response, turning away from her again. Silence fell, as he struggled to regain control of himself in examining the artwork and weapons on the wall. "I will never feel right in this room," he said softly. "It's not mine. It's his. But the crew needs a captain, not a frightened boy who hides in his own small quarters and leaves the captain's rooms empty."

"You will learn. For months after my investiture I felt like an impostor among the Grey. In time, it will come to feel as natural to you as your armor."

"Perhaps." He paused for a long moment. "Why, Delenn? Why now?"

"Because I remembered when my father died, and how much I wished then for someone who knew me, and had known him. I felt like I was floating away, like I had no roots anymore to hold me to all that I knew and loved. And I thought that even if you weren't feeling that, you would be feeling something, and perhaps wanting the company of someone else who knew him."

Another snort, and another dark look. "Everyone here knew him."

"I don't mean knowing him as a war-leader. I mean knowing him as a man."

Neroon dropped heavily into a low, black chair and threw back his head to look at the ceiling. "Master Firell contacted me today. She and Branmer had not seen much of each other since he converted and left his position at the temple school, but she said much the same as you, and that ever since his death was announced she has lit candles and prayed for him. Have you?"

"That is how the Religious caste deals with death," Delenn said. If the words were somewhat prim, her tone was not—she sounded more amused than anything else. "Yes, of course I have."

"Hmm. It is too little a thing, I think, for one as great as he was. I remember, when we were young, my mother talked of him as if he would never do anything in life. She acts now as if it was her censure alone that changed him, but that is only her way. We all know what made him change. You and I most of all."

"He awoke that summer," Delenn agreed. "As much, if in a very different way, as we did."

Neroon laughed softly for a moment… and then, abruptly, his face contorted and he scrunched his eyes tightly closed. His shoulders shook with unshed tears.

As he fought to regain his composure, he did not notice when she moved to his side, until she softly touched his gloved hand. He clutched at her fingers, and pulled her hand to his heart. The small fingers were as strong and warm as he remembered, and brought back a thousand feelings Neroon would have said that very morning that he had long since abandoned completely. Delenn leaned over him, stroking his smooth cheek with her free hand as he struggled to master his feelings.

When at last he opened his eyes again, he saw reflected in her own pale gray-green ones that their blackness seemed deeper than before. There was grief, certainly, and a profound loneliness. And something else - a dark heat that was infiltrating his body, magnifying his feelings by a thousand fold. Neroon's gloved hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing hesitantly at the edge of her lip.

"Neroon…" she began softly. He wasn't sure what she intended to say - that they shouldn't? That there was too much history between them, too much pain for both of them wrapped in the last time they had been together? That her heart ached for the grief and sorrow he was feeling, but that there was so much he didn't know, so much that had happened since even the last time they had seen each other, so much that would happen the following day and in the time coming soon after…

But Neroon interrupted before she could find her voice. "I will not press you this time, Delenn, I swear to you. I make no mention of the future. But I—" His voice caught in his throat, and he swallowed, growling a little at how his body betrayed him. "I do not want to be alone tonight."

Like thin ice over running water, Delenn's resolve cracked and shattered to pieces. Grief, he knew, was one thing she could understand, and the weakness that came with it another. "I will stay, then, if you wish it."

After that there were no more words. His hands were on her face and her throat, seeking heat and pulse and reassurance, and his mouth on hers with a greedy, urgent passion. Their clothes seemed to melt away as they took to Neroon's bed, that a bare week before had belonged to Branmer, and there was something ancient about that act, something that spoke of lineage and continuance. She took him willingly into her body, touching him gently as he poured his grief and anguish out into her, his thrums and groans of passion mixing with the sharp, gasping breaths of his quiet weeping. 

Delenn stroked the back of his crest afterward, as he closed his eyes and focused on the slowing thud of his heart against her chest, and the sensation of being inside her. "I never thought to feel this again," she murmured.

"Nor I," Neroon said, his voice soft and rough with unshed tears. "I only wish..."

"Hush," Delenn insisted, tightening around him. "Do not wish. Do not regret. Feel." She kissed him hard and rolled him over, straddling his hips. "Tomorrow is time enough for regrets." He pulled her down by the shoulders and pressed his lips to hers, his ungloved hands roaming over her back and breasts until she trembled uncontrollably and at last, cried out aloud. 

He pushed her back onto the angled bed, and she gasped for Neroon to kiss her harder, touch her harder, take her harder, and he obliged without hesitation, pushing deeper into her body and bruising her lips with the force of his kiss. It felt glorious. 

He had taken no lovers since their youth together, when they had courted shyly in the cold stone corridors of the small temple school where she had studied and he had been sent to learn patience. At first, after she had cast him off, there had been no desire in him for anyone else, and after that there simply had never been time. Neroon had flung himself into his military training, the life he had been born to, and tried with all his might to leave behind the fever-dreams of his pale-eyed priestess. 

Neroon had been devastated when Delenn had broken their engagement, but Branmer had been heartbroken as well. He had known Delenn since her first days in temple and had cherished bright hopes of her being someday married to his cousin's son, hopes that Neroon had taken for his own. He had never told Branmer why Delenn had spurned him—the memory of that hot, hungry night on the _Valen'tha_ and the cold morning that followed, when he had demanded too much and Delenn had shown the true brutal strength of her heart for the first time, still haunted his nightmares. But for all that, he had never been certain that Branmer didn't know. The _Shai Alyt_ had always called Delenn a friend, after all. 

"Did you ever tell him the truth?" Neroon asked, as they lay together, naked and breathless, his head nestled in the crux of her neck and shoulder. She felt and smelled the same under his hands, and he wondered idly if he felt the same to her.

Her hand came up to stroke the small soft scales at the nape of his neck, just beneath the base of his crest. "No," she said after a long moment. "I sometimes wanted to. I wanted to explain, to make him understand that it was not... for lack of affection... on either of our parts."

Neroon's throat tightened. "That was never the problem."

"But I did not think it was my place to reveal so private a thing to a member of your family."

It wasn't meant as an insult. Neroon knew that, felt it clearly that she was saying only what was true and objective... and was ashamed of himself all over again. He should have been the one to tell Branmer, to explain how the old general's hopes had been so cruelly dashed and seek his foster father's help. Perhaps if he had not been so stubbornly proud, what love had been between himself and Delenn before the war might be there still.

He felt her lips on the top of his head, tingling against the bit of blue that flared out from the tine on his scalp. "Are you sure what you are doing is wise, Neroon?" He glanced up at her, frowning. "This display of Branmer's body... it was not what he wanted. You know that."

"His simple wishes were unbefitting of so great a hero."

"Perhaps. But very befitting of the humble priest he remained in his heart. Why are you doing this?"

Neroon sighed and pulled her closer. "I was... such a disappointment to him in life. My recklessness as a boy. Our broken understanding... he felt that keenly. Things that happened during the war with the Humans that were unworthy of a Star Rider... The least I can do now is honor him in death."

"Oh..." Delenn turned onto her side and pressed her hand to Neroon's cheek, gazing sadly into his eyes. "He was never disappointed with you, Neroon. _Never._ With your actions at times, perhaps, but that is true of all parents and children. Whenever he spoke to me of you, it was never with anything less than pride." She kissed Neroon very softly. "And I think that now, he would be very proud to know that the man he raised from boyhood had honored his final request."

"Delenn..." Tears choked him for a moment or two. "I was orphaned as a baby, and Branmer helped to raise me. So I will do for Branmer what I could not do for my own father, and give him the grandest Warrior funeral that I can muster."

He fully expected her to argue with him, to counter and debate and parry, and manipulate him out of his decision before he knew she had done it. That was her way, after all. She was Satai. She was Delenn. But she said nothing of the kind, and the deep, deep sadness was plain on her face, as though his words had wounded her for years to come. 

She kissed him again, more urgently this time, and he gladly lost himself once more in the welcoming curves of her body. 

The next day, as the Humans were overly fond of saying, everything went straight to hell.

*** 

When her aide brought a fuming, humiliated Neroon to her quarters, and Delenn told him the truth, he was almost too angry for words. 

"So this was why you came to my bed last night," he sneered. "Speaking soft words of friendship and shared grief—and I was fool enough to believe them—and all the while seeking only to keep me away from where I should have been, in the viewing room, protecting my clan-brother and foster father... But I was always too trusting of you, Delenn," he said, his black eyes burning like coals. "And you have always been able to use that trust against me."

"I admit to taking advantage of your trust," said Delenn, inclining her head slightly. "But not of you. What I said... what we did... That was true, Neroon."

He snorted. "Was it?" The warm ball in his gut told him it was. Whatever else Delenn might be, she was not a woman who bestowed her body lightly... and he was the one who had asked her to keep him company, to touch him and keep the shadows away. "Let that rest, then. But this other deed... this blasphemy, Delenn. How could you do such a thing to him—to _me_?"

"I only did what was my right as a member of the Religious caste—"

"You had _no right_ to touch the _Shai Alyt's_ body!" Neroon retorted, pacing Delenn's quarters with his hands balled into fists. He had to keep from lashing out and taking out his frustrations on her belongings. He stalked past her; neither one looked at the other. "He was Warrior caste by right of his father."

"And _Religious_ caste by right of his mother," Delenn retorted. "You know which takes precedence." 

He turned on her. "The Star Riders will protest this," he said, his voice haughty and strident. "I will lead the fight myself—"

"You will do _nothing_." Now she looked at him, and her pale green eyes pierced his soul like a pair of frozen daggers. "You ignored his request to be cremated, and have his ashes scattered in space. You disobeyed not only your own war leader, but one of the greatest of our Religious caste. You showed _great_ disrespect."

The words stung like a slap, as they were meant to, but no so much as what she left unspoken: _You, of all people. You, whom he called his son. You should have known better._ "You had to display the great warrior's body, you had to have your military spectacle—it stops _here!_ " Delenn took three measured, even steps into his personal space, stopping a bare hands-breadth away, her steely gaze never wavering. "Or the Star Riders will be destroyed. Dishonored by your actions."

It sounded absurd. One small priestess could hardly destroy the oldest and noblest of all the Warrior clans! But her almost off-handed tone belied her deadly seriousness. She meant what she said. And what was more, Neroon knew, she could do it.

It was he who finally broke, casting his eyes down. "...Do you speak for yourself?"

"I speak for the entire Grey Council."

Unwillingly, Neroon dragged his eyes back to her face. She was _Satai_ , and he would obey her, because he had no choice. She was Delenn, after all.

"I'd hoped to avoid this conversation. But your insistence on an investigation has left me no choice."

_What would you have had me do?_ Neroon wanted to howl. _He was captain and father, and this was savage desecration!_ But he held his tongue, though it burned his pride badly.

"You will support my statement that his body was transformed. That is a _direct order_ from the Gray Council. You will obey it." She paused, just for a breath. "As you did our order to end the war."

And all his kicking and screaming and resentment be damned. 

"Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Neroon, tight-jawed but, if not respectful, at least obedient. "I understand, _Satai_ Delenn." He bowed his head low, so he would not have to look at her anymore. "Is there anything else you want of me?"

"You will apologize to Commander Sinclair—privately—for your behavior earlier."

Slowly, Neroon raised incredulous, horrified eyes to her. Delenn held his gaze for a moment. Then she turned and walked over to a small table where an unfinished crystal sculpture was laid out. Neroon tried to speak, but found no works. 

"I will see that you... and the Star Riders," she added, almost as an afterthought, laying a thin fragment of crystal on the intricate, delicately-balanced sculpture and nudging it into place with a fingernail, "will not be punished for your honoring of the _Shai Alyt_." And then, she looked up at him, and smiled.

Her pale gray-green eyes speared him to the spot, and her smirk was enhanced by the dark red stain on her beautiful, mocking lips. Neroon swallowed. He had never been able to fight that smile. "Yes, _Satai_ Delenn," he said softly, and saluted. 

For a moment or two, they stood that way, Neroon with one fist pressed to his palm and she, she, smiling down on him. "May I ask, Delenn..."

" _ **Satai**_ Delenn," she corrected with rapid, icy sternness, and her eyes went so hard, he felt them pierce his body. "Do not forget your place, Neroon. After all, you are not _Shai Alyt_ yet."

At the reminder of all that had happened, and all that still awaited him, Neroon suddenly felt very young. In Delenn's presence, the sensation was akin to more than nakedness. 

"Surely you knew." Her voice was almost gentle now.

"Yes. I always knew that Branmer intended me to succeed him." The Star Rider drew in a long breath. "I do not feel ready to step into his place."

"Nor should you." 

It might have been an insult, but Neroon was too tired to rise to it. "He was a great Warrior."

"He was a great man," the ambassador corrected. "Both as a general and a priest."

"He inspired... such valor. Such loyalty, in all those under his command." 

"I know." Delenn stepped around the table and came forward to stand before him, laying her hand lightly on his shoulder. "If you felt yourself ready, I should not be willing to confirm your appointment, when the Warrior elders make their official decision. But Branmer was sure of you, and as things stand, so am I."

She was a full head shorter than he was, but somehow he still felt as though he was looking up, up into her eyes so far above his, and there was something reverent in his gut, even as his lip curled in a half-hearted sneer. "You have a strange way of displaying your confidence... _Satai_ Delenn."

"I did not say I thought you were _ready_ to take Branmer's place," said Delenn coldly, "only that I believe he was correct in choosing you." Neroon felt the blood leave his face again. He should have been ashamed to be so cowed by a mere priestess... but she was no such thing. She was _Satai_. She was Delenn. The holiness of her felt like little more than a masking shroud; it was what lay beneath that façade that had always intrigued and frightened him. He had seen some of it again last night, for the first time in over ten years, and even now the remembrance of it sent a decidedly irreligious longing shooting through his body.

"When the time of mourning is over," Delenn continued, her manner as stern as a goddess but her hand very warm and kind on his shoulder, "you will step into Branmer's place as _Shai Alyt_ , and it will be in your best interests to learn to cooperate with the Grey Council and work _with_ us." She moved her hand to his cheek, and smiled. "Work with me."

His heart thumped against his ribs so hard, Neroon thought they might break. 

"And for the time being, that means remaining on good terms with the Humans."

"But--"

"That is an order, _Alyt_."

Her hand fell from his face, and his skin burned where she had touched him.

Neroon tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. "Yes, _Satai_ Delenn."

*** 

"There was no cause for me to attack you, Commander. Even less cause for me to threaten this station."

It was hard for Neroon to maintain a civil tone in the presence of the Human; not only did the words of the apology burn in his throat, but Commander Sinclair stood just the littlest bit taller than Neroon, enough to require the _Alyt_ to look up to meet Sinclair's eyes, and this he did not wish to do. "I am ashamed to admit that my feelings for the _Shai Alyt_ led me to act... improperly." He bowed his head in ceremonial deference and waited for the token acceptance the Commander was certain to utter.

"There is no shame in wanting to honor him, _Alyt_ Neroon," said Sinclair, his deep voice soft and strangely understanding. "I fought on the Line against Branmer. I saw his valor and leadership first-hand."

Neroon slowly lifted his head and was surprised to see that Sinclair was smiling. 

"Because his body... disappeared here," Sinclair said, making a confused gesture with his hands that was just a little too exaggerated, "I feel some responsibility to the Minbari people." Curse the alien, Neroon seethed. He knew the truth. He _knew_ that Branmer had not been taken bodily into the halls of the ancient gods. His hands curled together more tightly, wanting only to lash out and hit something. "There is no higher testimony to a warrior's courage and skill," Sinclair continued, "than praise from his enemy. I would like to send that message to your homeworld. A personal message, a testimony to the _Shai Alyt_."

"You will do this as an Earthforce officer?" asked Neroon, warily.

"And as commander of Babylon 5."

Neroon's throat tightened. "That is a great kindness," he said, lowering his head before he could display an unseemly emotion before Sinclair.

Yet Sinclair seemed to understand. "We've fought long enough," he said softly, and there was a haunted quality to his voice that Neroon recognized, that made him look up again. "Maybe it's time we started talking with one another. Branmer's life was more important than his battles. Let the Warrior caste praise his courage and war, and let the rest praise him for what he truly was: a man of peace."

Neroon's black eyes darted across the Human's face, astonished that an alien who had never known Branmer in life could manage to understand him so well, and use such healing words to convey that sympathy. "You talk like a Minbari, Commander," he said dryly. "Perhaps there was some _small_ wisdom in letting your species survive."

"We like to think so," said Sinclair, his smile deepening, and Neroon found himself returning it.

"Until another day, then." Neroon gave Sinclair a respectful Warrior's salute, closed fist to palm... and then offered his right hand to shake, as Humans did in token of friendship. Sinclair closed his hand around Neroon's leather-covered fingers, and the two men shared a moment of understanding, one Warrior to another.


End file.
